Resolve
by Sagewhisker
Summary: Yellowfang is conflicted in a world of death and despair. A conversation with an old friend sets her paws on the path to understanding and resolve. Please R&R.


**This is something I've been working on for a while – a while being something like a year of typing, deleting, typing again, altering, finally finishing. I'm glad it's finally done. x)**

**The characters, etc. don't belong to me. And honestly, I'm pretty sure that I just made up the whole Nightpelt x Yellowfang pairing, but I like to imagine that they had some sort of relationship going on, even if it was just friendship.**

…**yes. Thanks for reading. Please leave a review; I love the comments/criticism. ;)**

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The wind whistled as it blew through the bramble thicket that was my den. My dark fur bristled as the chillness seeped through my fur; I arched my back against the cold and tucked my paws beneath me as I looked out into the clearing. Through the bramble tendrils that hung down over the opening of the den, I watched with a hardened gaze the others milling about like trapped mice. ShadowClan was dying and there was nothing I could do to help. No herb, no remedy could ever cure what afflicted us. There was no hope for any of us, from the oldest elder to the tiniest kit.

I watched as a warrior patrol returned from hunting; Clawface held a small shrew, but Nightpelt and Littlepaw carried no prey. The small tabby apprentice, still just barely old enough to be without his mother, crept up to Clawface; with his belly submissively against the ground, he sniffed at the warrior's catch. My heart ached as I watched, seeing the young tom so desperate for just a single bite to eat. The battle-scarred warrior, however, was in no mood to share; he hissed at Littlepaw and carried the shrew away. As he walked past my den, I spat, disgusted with his selfishness.

I could see every bone sticking out beneath the apprentice's pelt as he followed Clawface. A Clan was supposed to offer protection, not a death sentence.

"Young one," I rasped as he approached, "come here."

His ears twitched feebly at my call and he turned to look at me. The dull look in his eyes sickened me. Just a few moons ago, Littlepaw's liveliness and curiosity had intrigued me. He had strong intuition and a sharp mind. I would have been honored to have taken him on as my apprentice, if he had chosen that path. But now, it had all gone to waste. He would be lucky enough to just survive to his sixth moon.

"Here, eat these," I mewed as he crept closer. I offered a small packet of herbs containing chamomile and fennel seeds; nothing fancy, and nothing that would solve our problems, but it would at least stave off his hunger pains for a while.

Littlepaw eyed the leaf wrap warily and bent down to sniff it suspiciously. He raised his head again and stared at me. "Why?" 

His question stung. It was a mark of how little we could count on our Clanmates anymore that he would not trust even me. He flinched as I pawed the wrap forward. "It will help with the pain."

He stared at me for a moment longer, but my concern must have gotten to him. He bent down to lap up the herbs. As he stood and chewed, I could see him shivering.

"Yellowfang."

The sound of my name caught my attention. It was not something I heard very much anymore; more often I was "the medicine cat" or "that mangy old she-cat" or simply "you." I was convinced that some cats had even forgotten my name. A growl instinctively rose in my throat at the deep, scratchy voice; was it one of _them_, come looking to drag Littlepaw out again for amusement? I spat, "What do you want?"

The cat replied calmly, "I need to talk to you."

My ears twitched at the reply. I looked down at Littlepaw, crouched in the sand at my paws. There was little more that I could do for him and his eyes were narrowed drowsily. I stepped back, mewing, "Sleep now, young apprentice, you're safe."

As I crept out of the den, a quick sniff told me who was waiting. "You're not hurt, are you?"

"No," mewed the black tom, shaking his head. "Is Littlepaw okay?"

"He's resting now. He's tired, like the rest of us, but he'll be fine." The tom's concern for the apprentice calmed me. It was a soothing reminder that all was not yet lost. "What did you need to talk to me about, Nightpelt?"

Nightpelt did not respond immediately and I took the time to look over him. He was gaunt, like every other cat – except maybe our _grand_ leader Brokenstar, himself. His black fur was matted, thin in several patches and parted across his left side by an ugly, jagged scar. I grimaced at it, remembering all too well who had given it to him.

"It's nothing," he meowed, turning away to block my view. I looked up to see his gaze boring into mine. "It's not like you did it."

_I might as well have_, I thought. "It shouldn't have happened."

"None of this should be happening," he growled. "That's what I've come to talk to you about. He's done more than just give me this scar. This wouldn't be happening if Raggedstar was still leader."

Raggedstar: I flinched at the name. Our previous leader, noble Raggedstar, had cared for every cat in the Clan. Things were so different then, so much safer. No other Clan dared walk upon our territory and our kits never went hungry. I mewed back, weakly, "But Brokenstar is leader now. By the warrior code, we must follow him."

I averted my gaze, but I could feel his eyes on me, staring his challenge. I could tell he was not impressed with my answer.

"You have never been afraid to speak your mind before, Yellowfang," meowed Nightpelt, "but now you won't speak a word against Brokenstar. What's happened to you?"

"My word would do nothing," I growled.

"No," he shot back. "It would do everything. Brokenstar might be leader now, but _you_ are still our medicine cat. Your word is the will of StarClan."

"StarClan," I snorted. "And how many of us do you think still look to StarClan? They've given nine lives to a tyrant. They won't help us now."

Nightpelt's eyes widened in shock, then narrowed harshly. "You don't really believe that."

I mirrored his hostile stare for a short moment, then looked away. Defeated, I mewed, "I don't know what I believe any more."

The black tom hesitated, then leaned forward and pressed his muzzle against mine. I squeezed my eyes shut; I felt secure, like a nursery kit. It was a long time since I had experienced such a blissful feeling. I leaned into him, wanting more. His warm breath was comfortable against my fur as he whispered, "You are one of the strongest cats I have ever known, Yellowfang. It is not your faith that you are questioning."

I pulled back, thrown back into consciousness of my situation. "What do you mean?"

"I've seen the way you look at him," Nightpelt meowed. My gaze fell to my paws; out of the corner of my eye, I could see him flex his claws. "You try to hide it, but I can see."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I meowed evasively. I turned to crawl back into my den, but Nightpelt slid in front of me, blocking the way. His eyes flashed with warning.

"Fear, shame, _longing_ - it's all there, every time, ever since he was a kit," he hissed. The fur along the back of my neck bristled involuntarily as he continued, "Raggedstar was his father, but no cat ever claimed to be his mother. Brokenstar is your son, isn't he?"

Shock at Nightpelt's accusing tone ran through me for a heartbeat, then dulled. We sat in silence for what seemed like moons before I replied, in what was little more than a whisper, "I can't fight him."

The black tom's amber gaze bore into mine as I looked up into his eyes. What I saw there surprised me; where I was expecting scorn, I was instead met with something like pity. "You love him."

_Yes_. I did not answer Nightpelt directly, but I could see that he understood. His lips twitched, briefly showing his teeth, and he shifted from paw to paw uncomfortably. I thought I could hear a faint growl.

"I can understand that," he meowed, finally.

My eyes widened briefly, then squeezed shut. "How could you possibly? You…you've never had your honor in question. You've never felt like you had your Clanmates' blood on your paws." I paused. My ears flattened as I heard Nightpelt's sharp intake of breath. "I'm a monster."

"No," Nightpelt growled instantly. "You are _not_ responsible for what Brokenstar has done and you're a fool for thinking otherwise."

"But I won't stop him."

"Because you're stuck on some sort of moral obligation to protect him," Nightpelt spat. "And why? Because he's your kin?"

"He's my _son_," I hissed. "How can I hurt him?"

Nightpelt's claws unsheathed and raked the ground. "Medicine cats have other obligations, or have you forgotten?"

"I'm doing my best to protect this Clan," I meowed. "What more do you want from me?"

He ignored my question. "You promised to treat and protect every cat in this Clan equally. How can you do this when you try to shield the very cat who is eating away at our Clan from the inside?"

"I'm doing my best," I echoed, looking away sharply.

Nightpelt's deep, rasping breath scratched the silence as I held mine. It was so much of a lie that it stung to say. Nightpelt was right; Brokenstar was destroying the Clan that I vowed to look after with my life. What gave me the right to do otherwise? "Nightpelt…I'm sorry."

His whiskers twitched as I whispered, "I've never seen him for what he is. He's always just been my son. Raggedstar's son."

"I know you loved Raggestar very much," Nightstar meowed.

"He loved me too," I mewed, nodding, mostly to myself. I had doubts. Raggedstar had grown distant after Brokenstar's birth; I had to hold on to my belief that he was doing it to keep it all a secret, to protect me. "I thought supporting the cat he chose as deputy was the best thing I could do to honor his memory."

"I think," Nightpelt meowed, his voice tentative, but willful, "that the best you could do for him is to protect his Clan from danger – no matter what that danger might be."

Suddenly a strong wind picked up. I squinted against it; it seemed to be blowing directly into my face. A moment later it died down and I opened my eyes again. I looked down; beneath my paws were several tufts of brown fur. _I understand. I hear you, my love._

"I loved you too, you know."

I blinked in surprise. I wondered whether I had heard correctly.

"When we were warriors together," Nightpelt murmured, "many moons ago, when we were both still young. I had many hopes for us." He paused briefly before continuing, "I was frustrated when you decided to take a different path."

I watched with bated breath as he looked up to the sky, where just a few warriors of Silverpelt were beginning to appear. When he did not go on, I mewed, "It was the path I had to take. StarClan called to me."

"I understand that now," he meowed, turning his head down to again look at me. "And I think that now you finally understand too."

I nodded. Nightpelt was right. Raggedstar was right.

"I understand," I meowed, unsheathing my claws. Somehow I would have to find the strength to walk along this new path. "Something must be done."

Movement beyond Nightpelt caught my attention and my gaze shot to see who it was. My eyes widened in alarm as I recognized the dark brown tabby fur and kinked tail.

Brokenstar's ears twitched as he seemed to sense being watched. He turned and our gazes met, both hardened with grim determination. He narrowed his eyes and looked down to his paws where two young kits, Brightflower's recent litter, were cowering, their fur fluffed fearfully.

He smirked.


End file.
